


first shootin' star that you ever saw

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, High School, Stranger Things 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:22:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21883702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: Steve develops feelings for the reader, but with his reputation, the reader can’t be sure whether he’s being genuine or she’s just another prank
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader
Kudos: 49





	first shootin' star that you ever saw

To be completely honest, Steve had no idea Hawkins had a theater department until he stumbled into the small auditorium, with a hundred or so seats and a small stage that was either halfway through putting up or halfway through taking down a set. He hadn’t meant to find it, but with Tommy H, Carol, and Nicole waiting to trash him in the cafeteria, and Nancy Wheeler strolling the halls with Jonathan at the other end of the building, he’d snuck away with his metaphorical tail between his legs. Retreated until he found the theater and its cold, quiet darkness. 

Except, he wasn’t alone. Sitting behind a grand piano - which he could only identify due to the one in his own house, never played by the mother who’d _had to have it_ \- was you, settling a few sheets of paper above the keys. He’d never seen you before, but he’d come to realize lately he hadn’t really _seen_ anyone these past few years. For the supposed ‘king’ of Hawkins High, it was a pretty shitty realization. But he’d never wanted to be king, anyway. 

Your fingers settled on the keys, and your eyes fluttered shut. Steve stepped further into the empty auditorium as if pulled by some tether. 

And then you began to play. It wasn’t a song he’d ever heard before; it wasn’t like anything he’d ever heard before, really. Haunting and soft as the notes filled the air, making something inside him ache before you even started to sing. 

When you did, he nearly lost his breath. 

_So, what’s the past for? I’ll need it if love don’t last long_

_So you can run around infinite in my head_

_All you can’t see, oh, I’d stay if you asked me_

_Now you know I care, but it’s hard to tell when you’re scared_

You didn’t use the music sheets spread in front of you, the song seeming to spring from your fingers straight into the air, piercing his skin as the melody fell against him. Beautiful, somewhat eerie, and achingly sad. Steve moved up the carpeted walkway and dropped into one of the empty chairs, sinking into the dark and just listening. 

_Do you remember when?_ _Midnight drives when you’d sing_

_I’d play you songs you were in_

_I just want to be there again_

_Do you remember when?_ _With Rome below us that day_

_You said, “I wish we could stay”_

_I just want to be there again_

The song was just as beautiful as the girl playing it, and Steve didn’t realize how entranced he was until you stopped, cutting off mid-sentence, the bench seat scraping the floor as you got to your feet. Your brows furrowed and you moved to the front of the stage, peering into the dark where Steve sat. 

“Hello? Who’s out there?” You asked. Embarrassment flushed Steve’s cheeks pink, but he shoved it down as he stood and moved into the light. The curiosity on your face turned to disdain, lips pulling thin at the sight of him. 

“Steve? What are you doing here?” So, you knew his name. He probably should have known yours; add it to the list of things he should have known, should have done. 

“Sorry-I didn’t mean to stop you,” he said. You knelt down and slid off the stage into the audience, coming up the walkway to meet him, arms crossed against your chest. “What was that?”

“What was what?” You asked, arching a brow. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to deserve the hostility but knew he probably deserved it. 

“That…the song. What you were playing. It was-”

“It’s nothing,” you said. 

Steve raked a hand through his hair and shook his head. 

“That was _so_ not nothing. That was-”

“Look, I don’t really have time for this. I’ve got an audition in a week, and if I can’t finish the song by then…” you trailed off, shaking your head with an incredulous look on your face. “Sorry. You don’t care. Obviously. Did you…I don’t know, need something?” 

Steve’s lips parted, and he searched for some excuse as to why he’d been lurking in an auditorium he’d never stepped foot in before, but only came up with the truth. 

“I was…hiding. I didn’t-I didn’t realize anyone would be in here.” 

“Hiding?” You asked with a bitter laugh. “From who? Nancy Wheeler catch you macking down on some first year, or something?” 

It’d been weeks since he and Nancy broke up, but her name still tasted sour on his tongue. He massaged the back of his neck, lips quirking up in a half-smile, half grimace. 

“More like, avoiding Nancy Wheeler and her new boyfriend.” 

A line formed between your brows, something that might have been sympathy flashing in your eyes for a beat before they hardened again, became unreadable. 

“Oh, right. Her and Byers. I heard about that.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, jaw set. 

“Sucks,” you said, uncrossing your arms and leaning against the back of one of the seats. “And that’s why you’re lurking in the dark like some creep?”

“I wasn’t-”

“You _were_.” 

Steve laughed despite himself. You didn’t take even an inch of bullshit, like a bloodhound sniffing it out. 

“Fine. I was lurking because I didn’t want to deal with them, or with Tommy and Carol.”

“Aren’t they your friends?” You asked. 

Steve paused; the answer to that question wasn’t so simple anymore. Last he’d spoken to Carol and Tommy, he’d been a bloody pulp. It had seemed relatively final at that moment, the end of years of friendship, but only now did Steve realize he didn’t care. He didn’t _want_ to sit and listen to Tommy and Carol shit on kids they’d never spoken to, didn’t want to pretend to care what they said. 

He was tired of all the falsities. He wanted something…real. And the most real thing he’d seen in the last few weeks had been you just moments before, belting out a song he’d never heard on stage. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. “At least, not anymore.” 

“Sounds complicated.”

“It really isn’t,” he said. “I guess I…I figured out that they’re huge assholes.”

“You didn’t know?”

Steve laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. He opened his mouth to reply, but the bell ringing cut him short. You glanced in the direction of the door and back at him. 

“I’ve got to get to class,” you said, turning and climbing back up onto the stage. You gathered your music and tucked it into the bag leaning against the piano, slinging it over your shoulder and disappearing offstage before Steve got a chance to say anything else. 

* * *

Steve came back the next day and found you sprawled across two seats running lines. You mouthed them silently, fingers skimming the dried ink as you ran down the page. 

“No singing today?” He asked, dropping into a seat an aisle up and twisting in it to face you. You frowned, staring at him for a moment before speaking. 

“Trying to memorize a monologue,” you said. 

“How’s it going?”

“Until I was interrupted, you mean?” 

Steve flinched and sat back, but before he could stand and leave - it was clear you didn’t want him to stay - you continued. 

“There’s a line that’s just…screwing with me. I can’t get it right. I think I’ve been staring at it for too long,” you said, setting the paper on your knees. “Hiding, again?”

“Not this time.”

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, then?” 

Steve didn’t know, really, why he’d come back. Maybe he was hiding. But it didn’t feel like that. He’d actually been…excited when the bell rang for lunch. It took everything in him not to run to the auditorium. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time, maybe hadn’t felt like this ever. 

You intrigued him. And he just…he just wanted to _know_ you. Talk to you. Hear you sing again. 

But he didn’t have the words for all that, so all he said was, “Food,” and reached down to unzip his bag, tugging out a bag of pretzels. He didn’t like pretzels, but he’d stuffed them into his backpack this morning, anyway. He held them out to you, and after a moments hesitation, you took them. 

* * *

On the fifth day, Steve found himself back in the auditorium, this time wandering across the empty stage. It was cleaner than the day before, less set pieces laying about. He moved to the piano and ran a hand across the slick wooden top. When he was little, his mother had taught him a few songs. Still, it had been years since she’d so much as had a full conversation with him, let alone sit beside him for hours as he painstakingly learned the notes to Let It Be. He didn’t remember them anymore. 

He sat down at the bench and let his hands settle at his sides, surprised to find himself enjoying the quiet. 

A beat later, you stepped onto the stage from the right side, a hand flying to your chest when you saw him. Something fluttered inside his belly, something nervous and warm, a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time; perhaps, since the first time he saw Nancy Wheeler. But this was different; this _pull_. 

“Jesus,” you said, letting out a breath, “you scared me.”

“Sorry.” Steve got quickly to his feet, moving away from the piano. You eyed him curiously, hesitantly, like a deer studying a lion, as if waiting for some kind of strike. 

“What are you doing?”

He pressed his lips together and gestured to the piano. 

“Wanted to hear the rest of your song.” 

Your brows pulled together, the hesitation evident on your face. 

“It’s not finished, yet,” you said. 

Steve frowned. “Do you…need help?”

The line between your brows deepened, and regret coiled inside his gut. His old friends and his ex-girlfriend didn’t want him, didn’t need him, and neither did you. 

“Sorry,” Steve said, “I don’t know shit about music, and you probably don’t want _my_ help-”

“No, it’s…” you trailed off, licking your lips. “I just don’t…I don’t get it.”

“Get it? Get what?”

You waved a hand between you, shrugging. 

“Look… I’m just, I’m not in the mood for whatever game you’re playing.”

“Game? I’m not playing any-”

“I know how this ends, okay? You play nice, maybe get me to…I don’t know, get me in front of all your friends, make a big show out of tricking the girl into thinking you give a shit about what I say. Parade me around as the idiot that thought Steve Harrington might _actually_ …” you stopped, shaking your head with a bitter laugh. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

“Y/N,” Steve said softly, drawing your attention back to him. You shook your head and arched your brows as if daring him to continue. 

“This isn’t… some game.”

“Then what?”

“I…I like hanging out with you. I _like_ you.” 

You laughed, but it was anything but happy, and the sound cut Steve painfully. 

“Can’t you find someone else to pull this prank on? Because, honestly, I can’t do it. I won’t do it.” You stood to leave, and Steve followed you into the aisle, catching you lightly by the wrist. He dropped it as soon as you turned his way, brows arched as if to say, what?

“This isn’t a prank. Or a game. I’m not-I wouldn’t do that,” he said, but as he spoke, he realized he had no platform to stand on. He wasn’t exactly innocent; he’d earned his reputation for a reason. 

And he knew what you thought this was. Some fucked up, horrible, Carrie-esque situation. 

“No? And how am I supposed to believe that? Why _should_ I believe that?”

Steve wilted, like a marionette with clipped strings, and shook his head. 

“You shouldn’t. _I_ wouldn’t if I were you. I wouldn’t trust me,” he said, half to you, half to himself. Your brows furrowed for a beat, lips parting. It was the honesty that seemed to hold you in place. 

“I don’t deserve it. I’ve been…a real dick. But I don’t _want_ to be. I’m trying to…to figure out how _not_ to be.”

Your face softened, and you stepped toward him. 

“Why me?”

Steve shook his head. 

“I don’t know. I guess…you’re the only real person I’ve met in this place. I’m tired of it…of the bullshit. I want…I want _real_.”

He took a step toward you, now merely a foot apart, and reached out to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ears. You let out a tiny gasp at the touch, and he let his hand settle against your cheek. You met his gaze through feathered lashes, and he could see how badly you wanted to let your walls down, how scared you were of the damage that could come of it. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. 

Your lips curled up ever so slightly. “You know, it’s crazy, but I actually trust you.”

“You do?”

“Despite what’s probably my better judgment…”

“Screw better judgment,” he said. Your smile widened, and you crinkled your nose, shaking your head. 

“You’re not who I thought you were, Steve Harrington.”

“Is that a bad thing or a good thing?”

You closed the distance between you, your hand mirroring his own on his cheek. 

“A good one,” you said. “For now.” 

“I can work with that,” he said. You smiled. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked. You let out a tiny laugh and said, “You may.” 

And he did. Once, twice, three times, four. Until both your lips ached, and the bell rang, forcing you apart. But even then, when you gathered your things to go to class, you let Steve thread his fingers through yours and lead you out of the auditorium. 

And it felt a lot like hope. A lot like possibility. 

**Author's Note:**

> the song the reader ‘wrote’ is Rome by Dermot Kennedy, which obviously only came out this year, but we’re gonna pretend for the sake of the fic! because I’m obsessed w it!


End file.
